


Thirty Pieces of Silver

by RPGgirl514



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Betrayal, Episode: s02e05 Ducking and Diving, Gen, Partner Betrayal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-04-20 23:55:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4807061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RPGgirl514/pseuds/RPGgirl514
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robin contemplates who the spy could be and comes to a painful (albeit wrong) conclusion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thirty Pieces of Silver

_“Go back to the camp and stay there.”_

Jumbled thoughts chased each other around his mind like hounds after a fox as Robin stalked through Sherwood Forest towards Nottingham. What was he supposed to do? _A spy in his own gang._ It felt a betrayal in itself to consider, even within the secret confines of his own mind, who it could be.

John. Could be -- perhaps the Sheriff had gotten to Alice and Little John, bargained their lives for secrets? John valued their lives more than his own, but he also knew better than to believe the Sheriff’s false promises. If the Sheriff had his family, John would come to Robin for help -- wouldn’t he? _Wouldn’t he?_ The truth was, John had been an outlaw for years before Robin. He was a man of few words. Robin wondered if he’d ever truly known the man at all.

Djaq. Of course; how had he not suspected sooner? For the same reason Marian passed so easily through the castle -- No one ever suspects a woman. This wasn’t Djaq’s fight. She wasn’t even English. Still, she had fought fiercely and faithfully by his side for the better part of a year. Had she been playing him the whole time?

Allan. Allan a Dale, who owed Robin his life twice over in the first week they had known each other, and many times hence. He had put his trust in Robin of Locksley, and followed Robin into Sherwood. Surely Allan had not forgotten . . . but what if he had? He’d considered running away once before, Robin knew, but he had come back. Might he have grown tired of hiding and seen an opportunity to improve his lot? Robin believed Allan to be a good man, but as he well knew, believing a thing did not make it so.

Will. He had known the Scarlett boys since they were babes in arms, Robin being hardly older than Will himself. Had he not saved Will and his brother from the gallows? Perhaps Will, still smarting from Robin’s seemingly casual dismissal of his father’s death, had gone to Gisborne to get revenge. Robin had all but forced his hand when he pretended to take the poison himself. Could Will truly harbor such hatred for him? Robin knew the answer; he’d felt the irrational rage that followed on the heels of such grief. The hollowness of love lost brought on powerful grief, and grief drove men to terrible deeds.

Much. The betrayal of any of them would cut him deeply, to be sure, but if it were Much -- it would break his heart. Dear, brave Much, his oldest and closest friend, who had followed him to the Holy Land and back, then into outlawry in Sherwood, had given more than Robin had ever had any right to ask of him. He _knew_ Much, better than he knew himself. Even presented with damning evidence, Robin wasn’t sure he could ever believe it of him.

So wrapped up was he in the troubling swirl of his thoughts, Robin did not notice he was being followed until his shadow was nearly upon him. He whirled on his attacker and pushed him up against the wall.

“Much,” he said. No. Not Much; _never_ Much. “What are you doing here?”

"What are you doing here?” Much struggled against Robin’s grasp. “Look, I know you’re angry about Henry of Louis, but you can’t just go running off!”

Robin released him, his mind reeling. The only reason Much would be in Nottingham was if he were there to stop Robin from discovering his identity as the spy. No. There had to be another explanation; it _couldn’t_ be Much. “Much, you disobeyed my instructions. I said wait at the camp.”

Much was silent for a moment, breathing heavily and rubbing his throat where Robin had grabbed him. “Gisborne has outwitted us. So what? His luck will run out; it has to. Otherwise we’ll be asking where he’s getting his information from.” Much chuckled at that last bit, as if it were so ridiculous it could not be true.

Robin looked away.

“What? You think he’s getting information from one of us?” Robin searched his Much’s gaze with his own. _Is it you, dear friend?_

“No,” Much breathed. “Master, surely some mistake! A traitor?”

Robin rubbed the back of his neck. He had known Much for over half his life; the man was not an actor. He could not keep a secret, and he couldn’t tell a lie -- or perhaps that, too, had been an act, to throw suspicion off himself. No one would suspect a bumbling manservant.

“That’s why you told us to wait back at the camp,” Much realized. “Because you suspect . . . you suspect me.”

He was right, of course, but hearing it in Much’s voice and seeing the hurt in Much’s wide, honest eyes was quite a bit different than turning it over inside his own head.

Robin licked his lips. “Much, I have to suspect everyone.”

“That’s me; you suspect me,” Much repeated, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

Robin sighed. He did not have time to soothe Much’s fears. Marian could be in danger, and he still had no idea just how much Gisborne knew. Worst of all, Henry could have already betrayed the king. “Much, go back to the camp!”

Much stepped forward. “What do I have to do to prove my loyalty to you?”

Robin rolled his eyes.

“What? Tell me!” Much cast about wildly for an idea, anything, to prove himself. He drew his sword, and Robin stepped back in alarm. “I’ll chop off my own arms! Well, one arm, because once I chop that off, then I wouldn’t be able to chop off the other.” He trailed off, his sword arm dropping.

Robin felt the beginnings of a smile. “Much,” he said seriously, “if you are true to me, I ask just one thing.”

“Name it.” Robin brought his hand to Much’s cheek, like he’d done dozens of times before. The other man’s stubble was warm and familiar under his palm. He dropped his hand onto Much’s shoulder. “Go back to camp.”

Much stared at him for a moment, then nodded once, quickly, and turned to leave. Robin closed his eyes and turned away when Much’s shield disappeared from view. It hurt. Because Much trusted Robin. But he couldn’t trust Much.


End file.
